


A First Father's Day

by butterflysandbullets



Category: MorMor - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Art, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father's Day, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Feels, Fluff, Gifts, M/M, Papa, Parenthood, Parentmormor, Parents, Presents, Spoilers for future stories, Step-parents, father - Freeform, parent mormor, parentmor... sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4168131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflysandbullets/pseuds/butterflysandbullets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian's point of view on his first Father's Day with Jim and Brighid</p>
            </blockquote>





	A First Father's Day

**Author's Note:**

> If you have been following Butterflysandbullets, you will know we are trying hard to keep the stories in order that they have been written. A time line of sorts. Well, with this weekend being Father's Day and not being able to sit on Hippano's fantastic art one more minute we are publishing this one out of order.  
> ******Spoiler Alert********
> 
> This does contain a spoiler for the future of our verse. (which we should name at some point.) So if you don't want to know.... abandon your reading now. If you don't mind... then proceed with feels. We hope that you enjoy it! Happy Father's Day and thanks to Hippano (http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for her fantastic art!
> 
> And who could forget Demonicsymphony for giving it a quick once over to make sure our spelling wasn't too bad! Thanks Kel!

I never wanted children. It’s not that I don’t like children, I have a wonderful niece Hope who I adore. I just never saw myself as a father. My own father was such a rat bastard that I never thought it was something I wanted for myself. I’m ex military. Educated. In a relationship since I was sixteen. Old. My hair is turning grey in places, my eyes are starting to fail me.

I got married a bit a go. Something I also never thought I would do. But I love my husband with all my heart. He’s a perfect match for me.

Recently I was working and I got sick. After some time in the hospital recovering from emergency surgery, I got very... well I had a bad reaction to some painkillers I was given. Something that didn’t do well with my system.

And in my altered state, I said somethings that were not good. My husband, being that fantastic man that he is finally told me a secret he had been keeping for 17 years.

Do you know how hard it was to keep a secret for that long? I can’t imagine it was easy. Ever. But a large part of what happened is my fault as well. My husband and I had pretty much just left university. We were living together in London and we were... things were really good. Perfect. And in one night things turned for the worse.

I’m not going into detail about what happened then. Just say it wasn’t good. And with that being said, I kind of went a little mad. I joined up for Her Royal Majesty's armed forces that night. I ran away. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

And in hindsight it was one of the best things too. For if I hadn’t left that night… my husband wouldn’t have been able to give me the greatest gift ever. Even if it was a gift that he didn’t give me for seventeen years.

After I came back from my delirium, I was told of this secret gift. It was the most magical of moments. In four words. Four words changed my entire life, again and for the better.

“I have a daughter.” Four words that made me change my outlook on everything. Tilted my world on it’s axis.

Brighid Erin Moriarty. That’s her name. And after what’s happened recently and for a lot of reasons, that aren’t important, her mother isn’t involved right now. But Bri lives with my husband - her father- and I now. And this morning… this morning I was awoken when she left our house.

Why is that important you ask? Because it was a Sunday morning. And early.

I saw that she left a note and she went out with my sister for a few hours. Okay, no big deal, right? Right. I decided to go for a run and while running… I noticed something. Something interesting. Something I never thought about it much before. A typical June Sunday.

You get there yet? Good. So I went back to the flat and I woke my still sleeping husband.

I asked him if he knew what day it was. He answered me that he did.

See, he had spent time with his daughter on and off throughout the years. So he had spent several Sundays in June with her. He had experienced it before. But not me. This… this was my first time. I was a virgin. And Bri had left the flat and I was without my step-daughter. On my first Father’s Day.

Now, I’m not stupid enough to think that just because I was her stepfather that I was suddenly going to be over loaded with gifts or breakfast in bed or any of the silly things that you see on the telly. I just hated the thought that our daughter wouldn’t be there for her father. On Father’s day. But she was gone. Out with my sister.

I tried to keep myself occupied throughout the day. Tried not to think about it. I was disappointed to be honest. I was disappointed in her. I was hurt for the way she was treating her father. But that was all. Not for the way she was...

She finally came home. Shortly before tea. I had decided that since she hadn’t recognized the day, that I would. I worked hard at cooking a lovely supper. I spent hours planning and shopping and cooking. She came into the flat, shopping bags on each arms and scurried to her room.

My husband waved it off as if it was nothing. I went back into the kitchen and ignored them both.

By the time the risotto was ready, I was seething. I stalked into the sitting room and straight through to the study on the other side. I went straight to the small bar we kept there.

I’ve tried not to drink as much as I used to. I used to drink a lot. A real lot. When things were... when I was... yeah. I don’t like to think about that time of my life. However, I still take a drink once in a while. But this particular evening, I wanted a drink. A big one. So I poured myself several fingers worth of whiskey. The good stuff. Because I’ll be damned if I’m going to kiss my husband with anything less than good whiskey in my mouth.

I downed that with no problem and then I poured another. This one I took out of the room and slouched into my favorite chair in the sitting room. My loving husband managed to tear his gaze away from whatever he happened to be doing and gave me glance. His eyebrows raised at the sight of the glass in my hand and I shrugged in response. The whiskey was working correctly because it was beginning to take the edge off.

“When I was six,” I began after a few moments “ the year before Mum and Father split, Rina and I were in school. It was a big thing for the teachers to try and get the students involved in a hand craft for their fathers. Rina and I giggled at this idea. Our father. Lord Moran. With a homemade coffee mug. Or a picture frame. Or even a card made out of colored paper. If it came from us, it was either wrapped in a box from Selfridges or Tiffany or something equally as ridiculous. Father didn’t even want to recognize Father’s Day as a holiday. So we often didn’t do a thing. But the teachers were insistent that we participate. I remember Rina picked some sort of ashtray thing and I chose a keychain. We worked together, giggling all the time, each whispering to each other about some fantasy where Father actually liked the gifts and smiled and hugged us. Like the families we saw on telly.” I paused to take a swig of my whiskey.

“Father’s Day came and we went down to brunch with our gifts in our hands. We were excited for this made up scenario in our heads. Mum was thrilled and tried to get Father to be a little interested. He opened the packages up and we sat there on the edge of our seats. The sneer. It was the sneer at the things we worked hard on making that broke us.”

I stopped for a bit and waited. I wasn’t sure why I was telling him this story. I got up and walked over to the sofa where he was sitting and sat close to him. “I had this whole little fantasy in my head this morning. Bri’s first Father’s Day here. With us as a family. And she spent the day shopping with my sister. She hasn’t… has she said anything to you?” My husband shook his head and sighed. He told me in a very… well I read him better than he reads himself. After twenty odd years I know what he’s really saying. He was disappointed. But he was trying not to be.

I went back to the kitchen to finish dinner and I called my darling better half into the kitchen to keep me company as I finished up. We don’t have a formal dining room. Our flat is oddly shaped with big open space in the middle. But we have a great breakfast bar and that’s where we end up eating most of the meals that don’t end up being eating out of a box either over a desk or off of the coffee table.

I was plating out the food as I hollered for Bri to come and join us. She took a moment before I heard her door open and shut. She came out, and I nearly dropped the pot I was dishing risotto out of. Her arms were bursting with boxes. All wrapped and I could barely see her over the piles in her arms. She placed the boxes on the counter and I shook my head to get the sheer… well, I was agast.

That evening after we ate dinner, we sat on the sofa as Bri handed her father box after box. All kinds of things she wanted to give him for Father’s Day. Beautiful leather gloves. A tie with little devils and pitchforks on it. Chocolates from his favorite place. A lovely cashmere sweater. Seventeen gifts. She explained there was one for each year of her life. And then there was the eighteenth one. The one that tipped me over the edge so far I had to excuse myself to make coffee.

Bri handed her father a small box. It was something that…. I wasn’t sure what was in it. She looked apprehensive and my darling husband turned it around in his hands several times, as if he was trying to puzzle it out. She told him this was the one gift… the one to thank him for being there for her after recent events.

Slowly, he peeled off the paper and in his hand now sat a small box. A jewelry box.   He lifted the lid and in it sat a small silver colored charm. It was so… She shook her head and looked at her folded hands in her lap. It was something to add to his dog tags. So that he could have a piece of her near his heart. He already wears one of mine with one of his on his chain. Now a third. For Bri. One side had her name in a very pretty script and the other was an etching of a celtic sun.  She was our sunshine.

That’s when I got up to make coffee. I carried in three mugs when I was done with my… well… let’s just say I had to take a moment and take out my contacts before they washed out of my eyes.

I settled back on the sofa and Bri was between us. She turned towards me and pulled something out from behind her back.

“I didn’t forget you, Papa.” she said. “This was the hardest thing… I… I had no idea what to get you. It’s your first.. and I….” she stuttered and was almost shaking. She gave me a weak smile. “Happy first Father’s Day, Papa.” She thrust the box at me and turned to bury herself in her father’s arms.

I sat in stunned silence. I wasn’t expecting anything. I’m her step father. I… I wasn’t supposed to get anything. Really. Finally my husband cleared his throat and I smiled as I swallowed around the lump forming in my throat. I ripped the paper off (I’m much less patient with this kind of thing than my better half) and opened the box.

That lump in my throat? It was now the size of a football. I’m not a crier. Really I’m not. But we all get overwhelmed. I had to blink away the tears. Nestled in the blue velvet interior was the most perfect… I mean… I… I never expected this. Almost identical to my husbands. Her name in script on one side and… the other? A tiger and a cub. For my little cub.

I grabbed her by the hand, gently of course and pulled her towards me.

Now, neither my husband or my daughter are… big. They are both rather petite. And I’m not a giant, but I am taller and bit larger than average. It was all I could do not to crush her. But I hugged her so tightly. My husband smiled at me over her shoulder and I kissed her repeatedly.

I told her I love her in every language I could.

After we regained ourselves, we ate some ice cream and sat on the sofa chatting for a bit before heading off to bed. I fingered my new tag as I fell asleep, comfortable in my love’s arms.

Update:

It’s been a few weeks since I wrote this down and I have something more to add.

My husband…. he’s a bit… um… protective. So our entire lives are recorded on a CCTV. Inside the flat, it’s set for only our use. But it’s good quality video. And I’ve more than once pulled an image from it. Something to… well…. that’s not important. But I pulled an image from that night. The three of us sitting on the sofa. My little family.

We’ve tried taking the formal photos. Posed. Dressed. The works. And it always turns out…honestly pictures of the St. Valentines Massacre in Chicago are better than what we come up with. But this picture… the three of us on our first Father’s Day as a family… I printed it out.

I had this mate at uni. Sweet girl. She’s moved to Toronto since. But she is an artist. She paints. She and I have spoken a few times over the years via Facebook and things. I sent her the print to have her paint something. And Pani… she did an amazing job. I had no intentions of telling anyone until it was done. It arrived today. And I wanted to share it. It’s amazing.

It arrived while everyone was out. Father daughter shopping time. So, I took down the da Vinci and tossed it in the closet. I was getting sick of that one anyway. I was never one for just drawings of mechanical things. Early rendering of some sort of humane killing machine or something. I hung up the new painting.

Bri was the first one through the door and flounced right into her room with all her treasures. Jim… my husband…. he strolled in with a few bags, whistling. He looked happy. His feet stopped and he backed up. He took one long look at the painting and pursed his lips.

“Pani?” he asked and I nodded in response. “She’s gotten better over the years.” He didn’t say another word. He went to put his things in the bedroom and change his clothes. Bri came out of her room and noticed the painting. She smiled at it, skipped over to me for a kiss before disappearing into the kitchen.

Jim came back out and sat down next to me on the sofa. I raised an eyebrow at him and he narrowed his eyes.

“What?” he asked. I shook my head and he smiled.

“Sentimental Tiger.” he offered and moved me so that he could curl up next to me. I smiled and he melted into me as he scrolled on his phone. “I wonder if she’d do more for us.”

I pulled him close and gave him a kiss.

“Of course.” I answered. I looked back over my shoulder. I smiled and thought of all the years I didn’t want to be a father. And that one painting, that one bit of art… it was proof that I was wrong. And the strong willed ginger girl currently rummaging in the kitchen and the dark eyed man currently in my arms, was all that it took to change my mind.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are good. We like comments. They keep us young and beautiful.  
> Follow our verse at:  
> http://butterflysandbullets.tumblr.com/  
> And Seb at:
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/proftigermoran
> 
> And Jim at:
> 
> http://thecatsidhemoriarty.tumblr.com/
> 
> And Bri at:
> 
> http://theprincessbrilove.tumblr.com/
> 
> Seb's work in progress blog at:
> 
> http://samjournalentires.tumblr.com/
> 
> Hoped you enjoyed!


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